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I write prose to relieve tension and cool the fire of desire that may have accumulated in the last year, last month, or last night toward someone special. I know you've been there before. You're surviving traffic on the freeway and suddenly you see someone smiling at you. It's love and lust at first sight and you both know it, but maybe due to marriage or boyfriend-girlfriend obligations, you can't do a darn thing about the stove heat temperature of sensuality filling up in your car. Turn on your defroster, set it to cool and read on.

Okay, okay, the prose I'm writing is starting to get too hot for the timid out there. I'm about to get completely out of control with women, just like Elvis.      -TJP

Astro Glide Notes Most of this doesn't rhyme with actual words. You totally rhyme with my heart, Baby! I'm scared to tell you how bad I need you in my life because I fear you'll turn and run away like the last one. When you lend me your listening ear, or allow me to kiss all down your smooth velvet neck, it is enough attention satisfaction, for me and my need, that I can share you with other folks hot after you (just like me) right now. In my head (and on my head), in my wild mind, and my universe of wonder, we are together everyday on high adventure. Just look at me. Look at you. See the similarities? We can rush the big stage at will and be unafraid of what others might say on the dancefloor below. You dare to wear lace so sheer I can see skin cells, Baby. And I can (and have) don some black leather chaps and nothing else (wait 'til you see that). I believe fate, destiny, the stars, and the written word has created a moment here for us. Let's take it together. Guess I wasn't so scared after-all.                                                                                                 Prose 4 Latin G by TJP n 2K4

I Just Wanna Talk About Her Ass Today Each smooth cheek (right or left) fits perfectly in my firm grasped cupped hand (right or left) while my brazen hungry eyes (right or left) rove deep into her bun crack defined line. I knead her butt in a clockwise rotation as my sonar ears (right or left) listen to her quiet whimpering moans of released joy (quickly now, the security guards are coming). With my moist wet lips drop anchored on the felt fuzz nape at the base of her neck, my velociraptor tongue emerges to spread her skin, the way I wish to spread her butt, and upload this file. 2007 ¥ Prose for Latin G in White by Tuck

We lost DJ Jenn on an October Sunday Night in 2005.

Lena. An artist's conception. This amazing woman has got so much fire and energy until you've got to visualize a big northern iceberg with its main mass hidden beneath the water's surface to really appreciate her depth and beauty. "I'm older now and get too hot and sweaty, burnin' the dancefloors, to hold her body. She doesn't like me wet. So I just give her a peck on her cheek (but ha ha, which one?)." Lena, if you've just arrived at this page, click the button below to re-read my heartfelt prose written for you.          A poem for you

She has an amazing Lizard Collection in her pad. Anyone who can handle that, can probably handle me. I'm Reptile Wild!

Until I finally got a shot of us, I used to tweak images of folks to look like the lovely and gorgeous dancer, Barbara at Club Clockwork Orange on Friday nights.	And here's the real Mc Coy! I have known Barbara for years. Barbara, if you've just surfed over here, click the button to see a poem I wrote for you. A poem for you

What was remarkable about this woman, right next to her raw beauty, was when the security guard bouncers told us not to dance on the stage (where we got carried away in each other), she was simply content to dance at it's edge.

Shy Princess Bright Princess bright My special starlight Hold me tight Thru the night Like a butterfly You feel so light I hold your waist And squeeze your thighs If your Dad were here I just might die He'd see my love 4 you Is mountains high Lock the doors my princess Don't be shy The hour is late The time is right Consume my desire Till dawn's early light. ©1998 Tuck John Porter 4 Vargas Girl

A Moment There A frozen moment in time. Love, lust, desire entertwined. Your body glistens in sweat that's mine. From my horizon, I see your behind. We lost track of time and ran out of wine. Oops! We just broke a glass. 2002 TJP 4 MAB. His Flatmate Angel Bisquit Tasting Chocolate Morsel Avoca Pastry Dish

Hump N Bump or Dancing Like Lovers When We're Just Nasty Friends Up your dress and down your back.    Locked in touch, skin to skin. People watch and security checks    us sprawled upon the dancefloor cracks. My hungry tongue hangs upon your    soft, powder smooth neck. With your juicy legg wrapped around mine,    tighter than a sardine can. It's like we're dancin' alone    in your bedroom, Baby. Thus, I'm wondering with no surprise,    How far can we emotionally go? If love is really blind, and the trail    of togetherness is truly wide, We'll have each other forever.                            2002 by TJP 4 Susie

...and now, almost two years later... Numbered Days... When I was a boy, I seen my Mom leave our house at night in a pair of gold hot pants and boots. I seen photos of her drinking scotch and water at a nightclub in an old family photo album. Mom was so young and pretty in that shot. Don't know the exact time when Mom stopped hangin' out on the club scene or going to parties. I do know she had to spend more time getting us kids over to K-Mart, Ballet Classes, helping build cool Science Projects, and picking up parts for my motorcycles.... Every week. When you tell me you can't stay long on my couch when we finish dancin' together on a weeknight, I feel you, Baby. What you don't know, is that I know my days with you are numbered now. I'm about to lose you to your family forever....if we don't take our relationship to the next level and let me join your fun little clan. My bleeding heart ticks and time waits for no one. Please Baby please... ©2003 Prose 4 Susie from Tuck

	With wings attached we loft the skies A kiss, a touch, your vision eyes Nurtures my heart, my soul, and thighs That are now spread to glide, to ride To lift, to fly you to another time Where we as one will frolic in joy With wings attached. For Dionne and our unfinished business.

Phaelan, if you're finally reading this passage, please read a note I've had in my head and finally put down to paper especially for you. Love Always, Tuck!

by Tuck John Porter 8-11-98

Like a rabbit In the road With frozen eyes Locked on The approaching headlights Of an unknown car Is how my love stuck The first time I saw you Is how my love sticks to Each hour I think of you Is how my love tears On every turn I cannot find you. It is my love That gives me energy To face each day To seek thee. To one day find you Will mend my heart. PS- The drawing was done when tears welled high and rolled down my cheeks.

Love flames cooked the rythmic niteclub air     while sweating slaves of "House" dance their love affair.     My lust filled eyes say only Lola & I are there. Hmm, here's Lola in a dark lace dress, gliding across the dancefloor.     My heart, my wood are warm red to the core. Her heavenly body glows & I pretend she wears no underwear. When her lover showed up, a stocky built lady, I continued to stare. My plan is to caress her from the base of her nape down the middle of her back. Then blurt a kind phrase, "Ohh such a lovely lace dress, where'd you get it at?" With the music still thumpin', I say my thing and do my stuff.   Lola says, "Thank you" and that is enough. My blind ego heard she loves me, and love is tuff. Just look at her girlfriend. Get real. Aw shucks. Lola by Tuck John Porter 8-17-98

Lost my Granny back in August of 2002. I really miss her Physical Presence, but she still resides in my heart as always. Plus, I can hear her voice each morning reminding me to get back to work (smile). Here's a link to some prose on Granny that swirls inside my head everyday.

The Bitch The bitch         was a bitch.....   yes she was. by Tuck John Porter and co-written by Shari

Want to read my poems over again?

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© 2008 Tuck John Porter